


Maybe

by AmbroseRivers



Series: The Things You've Said. [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2012! Phan, Angst, Arguing, Break Up, Depression, M/M, Pining, things you said prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 10:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13211610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmbroseRivers/pseuds/AmbroseRivers
Summary: Tumblr prompt: Things you said when you thought I was asleep.OR: He can't do it.





	Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Going with a different format this time around so let's see how that goes. XD  
> Thanks for reading! <3

You’ve been gone a while.

I remember collapsing on our sofa to count the ridges littering the ceiling to help calm my racing mind but that horrible sickly, twisty feeling in my tummy kept distracting me.

I couldn’t help but think:  _where did we go wrong? ,_ replayingthe _Bang!_  of wood crashing against wood. A constant slamming that echoed in the flat like the shattering of my already splintered heart.

Maybe, I’m exaggerating, but there is an echo, a ghost. If only in my churning brain.

I didn’t think that sleep would overpower me… but apparently, it did, because suddenly- there’s a cool, thin blanket over me.

I wrap my fingers under it to hide because it’s exhausting, so very exhausting: trying to not go to bed angry but simmering with unspoken words and a brittle smile. 

It’s the one from your grandma, the one with the frayed ribbon edge, and for some reason, that makes my heart ache even more.

I’m just so tired, Dan. So incredibly, unbelievably tired.

I can hear the violent breath you expel.

I’m waiting for the thumps of your footsteps…that inevitable sound that tells me that I am no longer welcome to prod at the recesses of your mind, to climb in your ( _our_ ) bed and giggle at your whine when my feet brush your shins.

_(I toss and turn without you, you know? There’s nothing weighing me down and pillows can’t compare to your presence and heat._

_My own personal space heater.)_

I’ve learned that I’ve lost you and I don’t know when it happened but it did and  _fuck-_

I just barely manage to keep my breathing steady as your damp, chilly fingers stroke my cheek.

( _Why are you so cold? When did that happen?)_

“Christ, Phil,” You whisper and I bite my tongue because how long has it been since I’ve heard you like this? 

Your voice is honeyed caramel and warmth is spreading through my chest and out to the tips of my fingers…

My traitorous heart flips like you are still mine, still home. 

“Why do you do this? Why do you wait?”

_Because._

A single word but we both know what it means, can read between the lines ( _or in this case, fill them in_ ).

You’re stroking my hair now and it’s a fight to not press into your hand like a needy kitten but I succeed.

“You are so good,” There’s tears clogging your throat and why are you doing this? 

You’ve left me alone and ran away from the path we were building…isn’t that enough? 

Do I have to watch you tear yourself apart, too? 

“And I miss you but…” Your grip tightens and I can’t help the hitch in my throat because the barely there pull startles me. “I…shit.”

You let go but your hand still rests on the top of my head.

“I’m drowning, Phil. Do you know I’ve been looking at therapists because it’s so fucking hard?”

I didn’t know that. Why haven’t you told me?

“It’s not like it matters because I see the way you look at me when you think I can’t see you.”

How do I look? In pain because no matter how much we fight, I still would give everything for a flash of a dimple called Derek?

“I know you’re hurting…and I still love you- but I can’t…” You’re crying now because there’s wet sniffles and the smacking of your lips that you only do when you can’t speak. “It’s too much right now.”

It hurts but I think I can understand, Bear.

“Maybe…” You don’t finish because you are retreating with soft footsteps down the hall, maneuvering easily in the darkness despite the way it puts you on edge, and the spell is broken.

Your door slams and I’m left with fresh tears, wondering what your ‘maybe’ referred to (and squishing the hope unfurling in my chest that maybe… ‘maybe’ is a time and not something I should have done).


End file.
